All Fall Down
by kaly
Summary: After the dust settles, Sam's left to deal with the emotional ramifications of what's happened.  Spoilers for All Hell Breaks Loose, Parts 1 & 2


Title: All Fall Down  
Author: kaly  
Category: Gen, angst  
Characters: Sam, Dean  
Rating: PG  
Word Count: 2,230  
Spoilers: All Hell Breaks Loose, Parts 1 & 2  
Summary: After the dust settles, Sam's left to deal with the emotional ramifications of what's happened. 

Note the first: Written for the SFTCOL(AR)S Summer Santa (round two) exchange.

Disclaimer: Not mine. The pretty, snarky, angsty brothers belong to Kripke & the CW.

All Fall Down

The drive from the cemetery was made in silence. Sam couldn't decide if it felt like there was nothing left to say - or far too much - and silence won out. As they drove though, Sam kept sneaking glances at Dean until his brother cut his eyes to the side, glaring, as if daring Sam to try it again. Taking the hint, having learned long before to pick his battles, Sam turned to stare out the side window.

It was almost a relief when a small motel finally came into view, its vacancy sign flickering its welcome in the darkness. The Impala was more home than Sam had ever known, but at the moment, it felt as if there were no air in the car, nor enough room to move.

Once Dean parked and killed the engine, they moved together, practiced and automatic. Dean headed toward the office to get them a room, Sam to the trunk to pull out their bags. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard Bobby's truck - retrieved from the empty Nebraska field - and watched as it, too, came to a halt and was silent.

He didn't speak when Bobby and Ellen exited the truck, simply returning Bobby's nod when the other man moved past and followed Dean in the direction of the office. For a moment, Sam thought Ellen was about to speak, her mouth opening slightly and eyes widening with concern. Cringing, Sam turned back toward the car, hefting both bags onto his shoulder before slamming the trunk shut.

Whether she picked up on his non-verbal cues, or because Dean returned, keys in hand, Ellen didn't press. Sam could hear her sigh heavily in frustration as he looked up at Dean. Dean, in turn, merely said, "Room seven," in a rough voice.

Rather than reply, Sam nodded and glanced along the long narrow building until his eyes fell on a small brass figure seven to the far left. He risked a glance at Ellen, resituating their bags on his shoulder as an excuse to look her direction. Sam tried, but failed, to force a smile for her, managing a small shrug instead, before moving to follow Dean to their room.

Behind his brother, Sam couldn't help but notice that Dean's normal cocky swagger seemed forced, no longer the relaxed, confident motions Sam was so used to seeing. He couldn't help but think it looked like the weight of the world still rested on Dean's shoulders, as it had for most of the year since their dad had died.

Sam slowed to a stop; his throat tight, and he struggled to breathe as he watched Dean's retreating back. The full weight of the night seemed to settle on his chest suddenly. So much had happened, so much had changed, and he hadn't even known the worst of it until the very end.

Shaking his head as if to push the thoughts away, Sam began moving again. The last thing he wanted to do was attract Dean's attention or concern. Instead, he forced himself forward until he was in the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Dean was nowhere to be seen, though Sam could see a thin strip of light beneath the bathroom door and his coat was across the lone chair. Sam dropped their bags onto the near bed - Dean's, as he always had to sleep closest to the door - before collapsing onto the other. Resting his elbows on his knees, Sam dropped his head into his hands. He felt something like a puppet with its strings cut, tired and broken.

Oddly, Sam found himself both craving and hating the distance that seemed to have wedged between them. A small part of him wanted to hide and ignore everything that had happened, and being with Dean made that impossible. Though most of him didn't want to let Dean out of his sight. Bad things always seemed to happen when they were apart.

And so much _bad_ had happened since he had last been able to just sit in silence and process. It felt like years since he and Dean had been arguing about extra onions, when life - such as it ever was for them - was normal.

Cold Oak. Andy, Ava, Jake... The demon. Their dad. Dean's _life_.

Sam shuddered, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, wishing he could push the memories away, ignore them until they were made untrue. Knowing the demon was dead, that a lifelong burden was over brought an incredible sense of relief, even happiness. But for every moment of victory, there were a hundred more of grief and pain. Of doubt.

He could hear Dean moving around in the bathroom and half-heartedly wondered if his brother was avoiding him. Worse, Sam wasn't sure if he was grateful for the respite. Guilt flared in his chest just for the thought. Dean's broken words - "one year" - echoed in his ears. _One year._

Dean came out of the bathroom then, and Sam looked up, although Dean didn't meet his gaze. The blood was cleaned from his forehead, but the bruising was already spectacular. He watched in silence as Dean ruffled through his bag, pocketing some cash before grabbing his coat and moving toward the door.

"We're running short," Dean said, still not looking at Sam. "I'm gonna see if there's any action to be found around here."

Standing, Sam reached out a hand, though Dean didn't see. "Dean..."

He saw as much as heard Dean's heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. "Not right now, okay, Sam?" his brother asked quietly. Sam could see how much effort it was taking for Dean to hold himself together. The last year had been brutal on his brother, the past week or so, even more so.

And although Sam didn't like it, he understood Dean's reaction. He knew that Dean needed something normal, something he could fall into and not have to think about. Space.

"I could come along..."

Dean laughed, hollowly. "Nah. Just some beer and pool. Maybe poker. Get some beauty sleep, I'll be back soon." Dean did glance at him then, haunted eyes in a pale face begging for space but promising to return, for both of them. "It's gonna be okay, Sammy," he whispered, the words sounding like a promise, and Dean rarely if ever didn't keep his promises.

"Okay," Sam replied, meaning it. He would give Dean what he needed, knowing that Dean would do the same for him when it counted.

With that, and a wave over his shoulder, Dean was out the door, shutting it behind him.

For several moments, Sam stared at the door, willing Dean to come back. Faced with this new distance between them, how could he even have thought to be grateful to be separated? Especially when such little time remained unless they pulled off another miracle.

The thought gave him pause. How many escapes from death was one family allowed? Sam had promised Dean he would save him - and he meant it - but doubt ate away at him and for a moment, fear paralyzed him. What if he couldn't?

Time wasn't something they were promised. In fact, more time was about the last thing any hunter was guaranteed. But he'd be damned, more than he already was, if he lost Dean any sooner than was absolutely unavoidable. Be it a day, a year or fifty years away.

He just wished he knew where to start. _A time-machine would be nice_, he thought with a quiet, near-hysterical laugh. Then he could make it so he didn't end up dead because he turned his back on his enemy. Make it so Dean wouldn't have to sacrifice himself. Or just maybe stop him from making the damn deal, even if it meant he stayed dead.

Wasn't that what Dean was always saying, that what's dead should stay dead? And Sam had wanted to argue, every time that Dean was wrong. As far as Sam was concerned, there was no acceptable path that involved his brother dying. His own death, while not preferable, was acceptable, to his way of thinking, as long as Dean survived.

Sam had guessed, fairly early on, what their dad had done. That the Colt disappearing and his sudden death had something to do with Dean managing to escape the unescapable. Sam hadn't wanted to think about it at first, caught up in the guilt of not being allowed to say good-bye, in the pain of being sent away at the end never having the chance to make peace with his father. But once the thought had burrowed its way through his defenses, Sam couldn't deny the likely truth.

And with this thought came a new kind of guilt, a pain he hadn't expected. Because for all he grieved his dad's death, especially given their parting, he was so damned relieved that Dean lived. Sam was grateful. They had lost their dad, and it hurt terribly, but he still had Dean, and in the end, that was what mattered most in his world.

But seeing their dad in the cemetery, the source of both family bond and fracture, had been a jolt. Knowing that he had clawed his way out of hell to help his sons defeat the demon was fitting somehow, given how he had lived his life. Sam hoped, wanted to believe, that when John had disappeared, he had found his way to their mother. Sam needed to believe that they were finally together again.

But at the end, before John disappeared, with the three of them standing together, but apart, Sam wished he could have found his voice. Not that he knew what to say, even after the fact, but anything would have been better than being struck mute. Even more so, Sam wished his dad had come to him, the way he had Dean. Maybe just for a moment, it might have let them be the family they never quite managed in life.

_What if's_ and _might have been's_ were achingly familiar to Sam. Every time they'd moved while they were growing up, every time Dean had been hurt on Sam's watch, Sam's entire life at Stanford... Sam had known that kind of doubt and worry.

He especially knew doubt where his father was concerned, had for most of his life. And Sam feared that he would never truly know where they had stood - that his last chance had just been lost. Sam could only wonder if his dad would have understood his gratitude for what John had given up. And Sam had begun to think that he would always feel guilty because of the relief his father's sacrifice had brought.

Sam never spoke to his brother about it; he didn't even dare try. Sam had hated watching Dean tear himself up with guilt, and almost gave up trying to help after the disastrous results in the junkyard at Bobby's. But he had never stopped watching Dean, no matter how much it hurt. He was waiting for the inevitable moment Dean would crack and finally let some of the guilt go. And even after that time finally came, there was no way Sam could add his own guilt to Dean's. It was his burden to bear alone.

Only now did he really understand where Dean's head had been all those months, how he must have felt. Sam had thought, before, that he'd understood how Dean must have felt. But it was only since learning of Dean's sacrifice, so like their dad's, Sam realized how the guilt could truly eat you alive.

His stomach was roiling, his chest pressed tight as if bound. Their dad had sacrificed himself so Dean could live. Less than a year later, Dean had thrown himself upon the proverbial sacrificial altar for Sam's life. When was it his turn? When did he get to step forward and save the lives of those he loved, instead of always being the one protected?

Their mother was gone, thanks to him; as was Jessica. He refused to be the reason Dean died. Hell or high water - even by his own sacrifice if necessary, whether or not Dean knew or approved - Sam was going to save his brother. And he knew, in a moment of clarity that it wasn't out of guilt or debt, that he _had_ to save Dean. Because a life without him wasn't worth living. Not anymore. Not ever, really.

Sam sighed. It was possible they had the most codependent family in history. His psychology professor at school would've had a field day with them. But surprisingly, though a few years before he wouldn't have thought it possible, Sam wouldn't have it any other way. He needed Dean. Dean needed him. End of story.

He hated what Dean had done, what he had given up, to save him. It was a debt he couldn't truly repay and a guilt he would always carry. And it was yet another strange connection between them, survival at the price of another. One more to add to the uncountable ties that preceded it.

But in the end, what mattered was that they were either in it together - or not at all. He just wasn't admitting that to his big brother.

fin


End file.
